


Pull me in and Hold me close (I’m feeling Morose)

by BarnesnMrNoble



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Clint Barton is a good boyfriend, Fluffy Angst, M/M, Soft Boys, and a major projection of myself onto Clint Barton, this is seriously super soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27375805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarnesnMrNoble/pseuds/BarnesnMrNoble
Summary: Not everyday is a good day, some days the world is a little heavy and Bucky just feels like he can’t hold it all on his shoulders. Good thing he has Clint Barton to help him.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Pull me in and Hold me close (I’m feeling Morose)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m genuinely super proud of this fic. All mistakes are my own. Please let me know what you think! I’d love to hear it all!

The sun is beaming in the window shining down on the golden skin of James Barnes and Clint can’t help but watch with captivated eyes, and his fingers can’t help but brush over the tan and smooth skin, tracing patterns only he knows and only he will remember when the day washes away the feeling of his skin against Bucky’s. Internally, Clint scoffs at himself, he thinks he is starting to sound like a poet, or a storyteller and he is far from either of those things.

Don’t quit your day job, Barton, he thinks. But his thought processes are now occupied by the the feeling of eyes on him. Not eyes of an enemy ready to end the peace he has allowed himself right now. No, these eyes are soft, loving, a stormy gray boring into his even though Clint isn’t returning the gaze. When he does though, it feels like everything is okay, like he is home.

Clint pauses his pattern drawing, his fingers stilling at the tip of Bucky’s collarbone. His free hand reaches up, slowly, crawling across miles of skin until Bucky’s jaw slides into its home, where he thinks it was molded for him. Molded for him to hold Bucky’s head up even when he can’t, even when the days are heavy and the world is pushing what feels like the weight of the world on Bucky’s shoulders. Clint looks back into those eyes, brushes his thumb over the high cheek bone and stays silent.

It’s hard for Clint to stay silent. He has a need to help everyone, to know what to do even when there is nothing to be done. He can’t help himself in the same way, so he makes sure that everyone else feels their best even if he is feeling his worst. So, it's hard. It’s hard for him not to ask why Bucky’s eyes shifted from loving and soft, to hurting and broken but he’s learned. It’s been a few years long lesson but he has learned that some days, even days like today where tears are already spilling across Bucky’s lower lashes, that he needs to let Bucky come to him, to learn to find the words. Even if it’s just the words to ask for help.

It takes a little bit, and for each passing moment, Clint just holds steady. He keeps his heart open, his eyes inviting, and his thumb continuing to swipe away the tears before they fall too far.

It’s nearly 45 minutes later that one of them moves. It takes Clint a moment to break from the moment and watch as the dark vibranium of Bucky’s left hand folds itself into a familiar sign. The corner of his mouth ticks up and he can’t help his puffing air through his nose. _I love you._ The hand signs. Clint reaches down to grab the metal hand and kiss every knuckle before whispering the sentiment right back. He watches as the fingers fold into another sign. A sign they both knew well and used often enough, a sign for when they couldn’t bring themselves to voice the words, or couldn’t find the words. _Help_.

It’s not a cry of desperate need. It’s not a cry of physical pain but mental and emotional pain. It’s a one word way to say _please help me get out of my head._ It’s their way of saying ‘today, I can’t carry my burdens. Could you help me?’ and so he does, he pulls Bucky into his arms. Rather he rolls to his back somehow maneuvers him so that he is fully laying on Clint’s chest, his arms habitually tucking themselves under and around Clint’s shoulders and sticking his nose into the comfort and warmth of Clint’s neck.

  
And they sit like that for another long while. Eventually, and unsurprisingly, it’s Bucky that gets out of the bed. No matter when, or what is going on, Clint Barton is always game to spend every minute of the day lying in his bed, but Bucky, he always wants to get out of bed and do something with the day. Clint nips at the tip of Bucky’s ear as he rolls away, muttering something under his breath that even Bucky doesn’t pick up but it makes the corner of his mouth tick up just a fraction. Clint notices it and takes it as the win it is.

They take a bath. Normally, they would take a quick shower and be out the door but right now, right now Clint wants to pamper Bucky. To have him feel soft fingers gently scrape at his scalp and massage the shampoo into his hair, and to let him lean his head back onto Clint’s shoulder to carefully rinse away the soap, and metaphorically wash away the pain and the blood Bucky will always see on his skin as Clint runs the loofa across that tanned skin again. He can feel a bit of his tension release in the shoulders.

Clint seems to have a plan now. They finish in the bath, Clint taking a moment to run the towel across Bucky’s skin, to dry off the water and maybe even pat dry a few stray tears. The room is still silent but Clint somehow is still speaking to Bucky, speaking affirmations of his love, and how worth Bucky is. He is baffled by how Clint can do this without ever speaking a word, but then he remembers how amazing CLint is and the question washes away with the last swipe of the towel.

Bucky wonders what he did to deserve this.

He gets Bucky dressed, puts on his favorite jeans and his favorite of Clint’s hoodies, and even sits down on his butt, legs straddled across the floor to delicately lace Bucky’s boots. He kisses the clothed skin of Bucky’s knee before he stands up. But then, he just grabs Bucky’s hand and Bucky is helpless to do anything but hold on.

He would follow Clint _anywhere_.

He thinks he dissociates for a minute because when he comes back to himself, they are pulling into a familiar parking garage. He doesn’t pay it much mind and just follows Clint as he grabs his hand and leads him again.

Bucky is mentally drawing patterns between the cluster of freckles on the back of Clint’s neck when Clint finally stops walking. Bucky is too distracted to notice at first and nearly slams his body into Clint. Instead Clint just uses the momentum to turn Bucky around and in front of Clint where he wraps his arms around Bucky and rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky focuses his eyes and stares at a wall of names.

It isn’t until Clint guides Bucky’s hand in his to trace over the first name on the list. James Buchanan Barnes. The words atop of the wall stick out now, Wall of Valor. He can hear Clint’s voice in his head, “That’s you, somebody who showed courage in the face or battle, in the face of what others would run screaming from. That’s you” and then Clint squeezes his shoulder and he realizes that Clint said that out loud. And all Bucky can do is turn in those arms and bury his face into Clint because that was him then and that is who he is now and he is not what hydra made him. He is nobody but James Buchanan Barnes.

And James Buchanan Barnes couldn’t love Clint any more than he does, but he is certainly going to try.


End file.
